In the End, I Found Where Beauty Began

I. That Year, I Wondered – Why Couldn’t Even Farewell Be a Little More Beautiful?

When I was in my teens, a friend of mine passed away. At that time, preservation methods were still limited, and the deceased were usually kept on dry ice. She was around my age, yet her appearance had been made to look like someone in her thirties. Her mother saw it and was stunned. She hurried to remove the makeup, leaving only a pale and unfamiliar face.

In that moment, a question quietly formed in my heart: why couldn’t even a final farewell be a little more beautiful?

I carried that thought with me for many years. I later studied cosmetology and worked as a bridal makeup artist. My work revolved around helping people look beautiful. But I often asked myself: Where does beauty truly end? I didn’t have the answer back then.

Until, at 39, I decided to try once more — to fulfill the incomplete longing from my youth: to let the faces of the departed be seen with calmness, so they may be remembered with love. I searched for a long journey of wandering from one workplace to another — until I finally encountered Xiao En. For the first time, I felt, “Perhaps this is where I was meant to be.”

II. From Makeup to Farewell: At the End of Beauty, There Is Reverence

At first, I thought it would simply be another makeup-related role, not too different from my previous work. But during the interview, they told me: as a Clinical Care Specialist, I would be responsible for the entire process — from receiving the deceased, cleansing and preservation, to makeup, casketing, and the final checks before the funeral.

In that moment, I understood that this was not just makeup. This was completing a final journey. A farewell is one-way, without return. Yet every step before that final goodbye must be done with utmost care.

When we go to receive the deceased, whether from home or hospital, we always observe our surroundings first. Our footsteps must be slow and steady — because every small movement is an expression of respect, both for space and for the life once lived. My supervisor once told me: “Every movement must be gentle – lifting, placing, turning. Remember, this is not just the deceased. This is an entire family’s memory.”

One gesture at a time, we learn and relearn this care. I remember an elderly man who had been bedridden for years. His bed was positioned close to the wall, so his family had always seen the left side of his face. My supervisor decided to turn the casket so the family could see the side of him they knew best. That was the first time I truly understood the weight of “details.” Every thoughtful act is not merely a skill, it is reverence. And through this reverence, we gently help families move closer to their loss, so their goodbye can be a little less painful.

III. Leaving a Dignified Photo: A Clue for Remembrance

Because of this, I often remind my friends: please keep a dignified photo of yourself and your loved ones. Many people never think about it — until the moment comes, and families bring us blurry snapshots, outdated photos, or casual selfies. It is only then that we realize — the image closest to who they truly were has already slipped away. A single photograph suddenly becomes precious beyond measure. A familiar smile, a well-loved hairstyle, a favorite lipstick shade — these fragments of memory become clues that help me restore their familiar presence. What we hope to do is simple: to let the deceased resemble themselves. And only the family knows best what “themselves” truly means.

IV. Less Is More: Creating a Look of Peace, Not Perfection

Some departed were once vibrant, beauty-loving women. Naturally, their families hope they will look beautiful one last time. But this kind of beauty is different from bridal beauty.

No eyeliner. No dramatic colors.

Sometimes it means unlearning everything I once knew. Makeup for the living celebrates light and shadow. Makeup for the deceased moves in the opposite direction. Bright colors look harsh under funeral lights. So, I learned to soften, to dim, to let the skin breathe. Age spots remain. Wrinkles stay. The traces of life are not meant to be erased. True beauty is simply restoring the quiet, natural look they had in life.

Sometimes families say, “This is really him. He looks like he’s sleeping.” Whenever I hear the word sleeping, my heart trembles a little. Because for a moment, it feels as if they have not truly left — only fallen into a gentle, temporary rest. And at that moment, I felt grateful. I’m grateful that my hands can offer a sliver of peace and help someone say goodbye with a softer heart.

V. Not Just Makeup—But Extending a Memory

I later learned that being a Clinical Care Specialist involves more than makeup, it also requires understanding preservation techniques. Naively, I once thought preservation simply meant “injecting chemicals.” Only later did I realize it is a delicate craft that demands experience, observation, and deep empathy. Adjusting the preservation fluid based on cause of death, body condition, or time passed; locating the artery beneath the skin; ensuring the fluid flows gently through the body — every deceased person is different.

Some are fragile. Some are tense.
Some absorb well. Some resist.

In the beginning, I was afraid — afraid that a mistake would cause the deceased to stiffen like stone. But when preservation is done well, the skin stays supple, and makeup looks more natural.

That was when I understood – preservation and makeup share the same purpose: not to reverse time, but to press pause — so the deceased can be remembered in their calmest form. I recall a family who rushed back from overseas for the funeral. One of them held my hand and said, “Thank you. She looks so peaceful.” In that moment, I realized: I am not making death beautiful. I am simply making farewell less painful. And I truly love this work – because every person I send off helps me feel the meaning of being alive.

VI. The Compassion of Time: Death Is Not an Ending

Over time, I stopped fearing death. Death is frightening because it is silent.
But the closer I work with it, the more I sense the compassion hidden within that silence.
It reminds us: Everything passes. Yet everything that has passed continues to be remembered — in another form. People often ask me if witnessing so many farewells feels heavy.
I always say no. Because in every farewell, I see love. Love deeper than death. Love longer than goodbye.

VII. Looking Back: Letting Farewell Be Seen with Gentleness

Years ago, I wondered: why couldn’t farewell be a little more beautiful?

Today, I finally understand – true beauty is not in the makeup, but in every farewell treated with gentleness. I am grateful to have found this path. Here, I can soften the edges of death and help preserve the memories that matter.

This, to me, is the truest form of beauty.

(Editor’s note: This article is based on the author’s oral sharing, written by The Interview’s reporter.)

This Original article first appeared in《 The Interview 》. [ Click Here ]